


You Really Got a Hold On Me

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The monitor is the only thing keeping Neal with Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Really Got a Hold On Me

Title: You Really Gotta Hold On Me  
Author: Ursula  
Rating: rating: NC-17  
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke slash  
Notes: Thanks for helping me with the right or left question. It was important.  
Spoilers: Episode one  
Warnings: Slash  
Word Count: 1346  
Summary: The monitor is the only thing keeping Neal with Peter.

Disclaimer: Fan fiction, not for profit, White Collar is owned by Jeff Eastin and other commercial entities. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Sometimes to be honest, the guilt made it all the better. Elizabeth knew and Elizabeth approved, but Peter's other spouse was the FBI and it was not as tolerant as his wife. Which probably explained why Peter could not sleep in this comfortable hotel bed.

Peter had spent an hour gazing out the window, watching clouds blowing over the Hudson, being driven as helplessly as Peter felt before the onslaught of his rush of feelings for Neal. After a time, Neal lured him into bed with kisses, with an embrace as lovely as the most graceful of Davids. With his silk and satin body over the adamant metal of his body and indomitable soul.

Surrender, Dorothy. Although Peter had thought himself more of a Tinman with a heart well-stolen.

And Peter had surrendered, capitulated, not even put up much of a fight, although it horrified him in a way, that he had no power to resist, that he would give it all away, for Neal's kisses, for the way he would moan when Peter made love to him, the way his eyes would open to their widest instead of closing to see Peter and, to never, for one second, have any doubt that it was Peter in him, around him, drowning in him.

As Neal had known, sleep drew both of them down after that. It had to. The earth had not just moved; it spun on its axis.

OooOooO

But Peter was awake again, staring into the darkness, weighing his soul and finding its burdens heavy.

Peter ran his fingers through Neal's hair; Neal smiled sleepily and moved closer to Peter's warmth.

The trouble was it was not all about sex. Not on Peter's end anyway. No cute piece of ass was worth risking his career. Even when it was cute as Neal's.

As Peter frequently told Elizabeth, he liked smart. Brains were the biggest sexual organ, that's what they said. They were for Peter.

But Peter's interest in art was did not stop with who forged it. In college, he took art history as much out of love as to gain that needed humanities credit. He chose financial crimes (the real name for his white collar crime division) because it was so much more elegant than organized crime and less bloody than major offenders. He made his name because he was so good with cases involving art.

Peter loves beauty as much as Neal does. He is just more reluctant to show it with those memories of a blue collar father who regarded all artists as useless parasites. Peter loves beautiful people…if they are smart. Like Elizabeth. Like Neal.

OooOooO

"Can't sleep?"

Neal's voice startled Peter. He had thought Neal was beyond waking, slumberous to the point of comatose.

"I got a cure for that," Neal said, sleep thickening his voice.

"I bet you do," Peter replied, but made no attempt to resist as Neal pushed the bedding aside. Peter might feel guilty but he was no fool.

"Ouch!" as Neal nipped and pulled.

"Can't help myself," Neal said, smiling. "Love my wooly bear."

Oh, god, same thing Elizabeth always said, playing with his chest hair. Should have been a turn off, but definitely was not. Peter was suddenly achingly hard.

Cheek against his belly, Neal smiled at him. "I could do this forever. We could just stay in this bed."

"You only stay because you can't leave," Peter said, without meaning to.

"That's not true," Neal said, disgusted. "And even if it was true, why would you think that it has anything to do with us?"

"Because if the monitor was off, there would be no us," Peter said, the words cutting deep. "You would be gone, looking for Kate without a glance backwards."

Peter's erection retreated before the wrong kind of battle for its tastes.

Neal sat up and said, "What the hell is wrong with you? I'm taking as big a risk as you. You think I woke up one day and said to myself, 'Hey, dude, let's go see if we can seduce the guy who could throw our pretty ass back in prison. And by the way, he's happily married so give the wife a chance to turn us in even if he is interested?"

Peter's thoughts must have been clear to Neal. It did not seem outside of the realm of possibility that Neal would weigh out what the most dangerous response to his situation was and promptly set out to achieve it. He was Neal, after all.

Slight flicker of a smile as Neal read him. "Okay, maybe I would. But I didn't. It just happened, Peter. You're irresistible."

Tentative smile on his face, big blue eyes pleading his case even more eloquently than that agile tongue…Peter loved Neal's agile tongue especially when it wasn't speaking.

Neal's hands went back to Peter's chest, smoothing him, soothing him and when it delved lower, enflaming him all over again.

"If you don't believe that I can love you, at least believe that this is real."

Standing up, Neal showed Peter that his cock was so hard that it pointed toward his belly.

"You do this to me, lover. Only you."

Neal had been watching gay porn again, but Peter liked it anyway.

Peter reached and was ready at Neal's first touch.

OooOooO

Wanting Neal on his back, Peter flipped him, loving the way that Neal rolled for him, opened for him, slid his legs into Peter's grip in total surrender. Peter caressed Neal's legs, turned to kiss the sinew and steel of them so different from the plush velvet of Elizabeth. And he had them both. He was a lucky man.

Neal moaned, trying to move him closer. "Peter. Come'on. Please?"

"Since you ask so nicely," Peter said, guiding himself into the heat, the tight inferno that was Neal. Peter loved doing this, loved that he could finally, really, completely get inside all that mystery, that elusive, maddening, glorious creature he had chased so many years.

Shuddering breath. Neal was arched for him, body open, defenseless, yearning. He bucked a little, suggesting.

Too much teasing and tension, Peter said, "Wait. Just wait."

With so much potentially sacrificed, why have it be over almost before it started? Meanwhile, Peter could gaze into the canvas of Neal's face, painted over with quick lightning, emotions moving as swiftly as the wind driven clouds that Peter had watched.

Now moving was irresistible. Neal inhaled, exhaled, breathed for him, loved him, was his.

Peter felt the monitor brush his shoulder, his left shoulder not the right. Neal's right ankle not the left.

And feeling that. Knowing. Christ, knowing what that meant…

He stays because he wants to stay. He stays for me.

Peter was lost and found in Neal's body. They moved together like demons, like angels, like an ululation of joy.

Flesh is flesh. Pleasure is so much electricity between nerves. So describe what happened between them as conductivity between perfectly matched capacitors. Describe it as two bodies, two souls that for a moment were one.

Peter fell back, slaughtered by seismic sensation. He gasped and shuddered as he tried to pull himself back into his own body from Neal's.

Neal recovered a moment before Peter. He slid his legs down from Peter's shoulders.

Before Neal could entirely disengage, Peter caught his right leg, caressed from knee to ankle, ankle to knee, bestowed a quick kiss on the sweat anointed skin, and gently tapped the monitor, telling him.

When Neal returned from the bathroom, the monitor was on his left ankle. He straightened the bed, as neat and controlled as if nothing had been said.

And nothing had been said with words. Everything with flesh.

The end


End file.
